


a little bit of spine

by nilchance



Series: ain't this the life [10]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Dysfunctional Relationships, M/M, Sensitive bones, Underfell Papyrus, Underfell Sans, cross-universe bullshit shenanigans, detailed content warnings in end notes, kustard - Freeform, offscreen fellcest, offscreen sans/random human
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-05-23 07:17:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14929676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nilchance/pseuds/nilchance
Summary: Sans is supposed to be the nice one.





	a little bit of spine

Edge turns up at Sans's hot dog cart for his break. It's kind of a relief that Edge isn't going to keep avoiding him, since it turns out Sans actually misses their weird, stilted, awkward little talks. What’s not reassuring is that Edge shows up looking like he wants to choke the world.

Sans hadn't realized Edge had relaxed at any point in the last six months until Edge looks as killingly tense as when he first showed up in their universe. Sans's immediate question is, "Who died?"

It's a legitimate question but Edge glares at him like he was kidding. Fortunately, Edge also doesn't bark out 'the king' or 'Undyne' or 'everyone but us' and he doesn't have a higher LV than yesterday. That's something, anyway.

"A human?" Edge demands. "Are you out of your fucking mind?"

"... Wow," Sans says. Thankfully, it's a rainy day and they're alone in the park, aside from a couple of seriously dedicated joggers. Not great for his wallet, but better for his reputation. "Hi to you too, buddy. How's tricks?"

"Sans," Edge says. He's clearly perfected saying that name in that exact tone of voice after years of dealing with Red. "Don't avoid the subject."

Sans takes his sweet time putting up the sign he uses for breaks: _be back_ and a shrug emoji. He relates to that emoji on a spiritual level. Going slow gives him time to gauge Edge's expression. Angry, yeah, but there's a streak of genuine worry underneath it. "But I'm so good at it."

"Aggravatingly so," Edge says. He's clearly trying to control his body language so he doesn't look menacing, which is a little like putting a pretty bow on a tiger and calling it Mittens. Still, points for effort. He waits impatiently until Sans comes out from behind the cart, falling into step slightly behind him and to the right to cover Sans's blind side. "You took an unnecessary risk last night. If that human had the slightest intent to hurt you--"

"He didn't," Sans says. The guy didn't even lay hands on him, for one thing, but that's a level of oversharing that he doesn't want to get into with Edge. Never mind that Red probably told him already. "I had it handled. Don't worry about it."

"Clearly someone has to since you don't give a shit," Edge says.

Sans veers out of Edge's shadow towards a park bench. He drops onto it. "You weren't pissed about it last night."

"I didn't know it was a human last night," Edge says tightly. "My brother kindly left that information out until you were gone."

Considering how Edge is reacting, Sans can see why. Would've been nice if Red never mentioned it, ever. It has nothing to do with Edge. Why worry him for nothing? "Red's cool with it. I can't catch anything from a human. It's not a big deal."

"You hate humans," Edge says.

"You're giving me a crick in my neck." Sans pats the bench next to him. When Edge sits, perched stiffly on the edge of the bench, Sans says, "I don't hate humans. They're hilarious. They pay me money."

"You're afraid of them," Edge says.

"Not sure where you got that."

Edge lets out an impatient sigh. "Must we do this? Fine. You position the cart so you always have your back to a wall or a tree. You work jobs that either keep you from being face-to-face with humans, like the call center or the delivery jobs, or you make sure you can leave if you feel threatened. You watch Frisk like a half-trained beast that you love but that might go for your face at any moment."

Sans blinks, impressed despite himself.

One corner of Edge's mouth turns up. "I'm a very good guard."

"Okay, Sherlock," Sans says. "Let's not go crazy here. Maybe they spook me a little, but I can handle one guy alone in a bathroom. I've got a shortcut out of bad situations."

"I don't doubt your competence, Sans, just your common fucking sense," Edge says. "Was it even worth the risk?"

The fact that Sans showed up at their house afterwards to fuck Red is answer enough, even if Red hadn't clearly shared all the ugly details. Sans digs in his pockets for cigarettes. "Orgasms aren't everything."

If he was talking to Red, he's pretty sure Red would've laughed so hard he fell off the bench. Edge doesn't. "You got him off, so I'm assuming you mean that _your_ orgasms aren't everything."

Sans winces. "How about we never discuss my orgasms?"

"You brought it up," Edge says. "My point is that if you're going to risk your life, it should be for more than one-sided sex in a bathroom with someone you don't trust. You deserve better."

Sans's soul rolls over in his chest, a sickening lurch of anger (Edge has no idea what Sans fucking deserves) and the usual shame. To keep from having to say anything, he puts the cigarette between his teeth and lights up. After a drag, he can say with a smile, "I had fun. Don't make it into something it's not."

From the corner of his eye, he can see Edge studying him. "I see."

"Nothing to see," Sans says. "So to summarize, you don't approve of me fucking anybody but your bro. That about cover it?"

"No," Edge says. "Fuck whatever monsters you like. It's the human I object to."

"I'll keep that in mind." Sans turns an aggressively bright smile on Edge. "Here's the thing. You don't get a vote on who I fuck."

He likes Edge, he likes the guy a lot, but he needs to nip this shit in the bud. It's his body. That's what this has always been about, hasn't it? To be useful in the ways he actually wanted to be, not just doing what he had to in order to earn his keep.

( _wide-bore needles and wires and feeding tubes, the brittle snap of his finger breaking, the betrayed horror on Papyrus’s face_ )

He doesn't want to think about Gaster. So he doesn’t. He’s gotten good at that little trick by now.

Edge leans back against the bench, looking at Sans and too close to actually seeing him. "No, of course not. You answer to no one and nothing. You can continue your self-destructive bullshit in peace. Congratulations."

"That's kinda over dramatic," Sans says. "It's some casual sex. The kind I'm already having with Red."

Edge makes an irritated gesture. "Red wouldn't hurt you."

"I know that," Sans says. "And neither will a human. If they try something, I'm not gonna just stand there and take it--"

"And if they're faster than you, you're dust," Edge says. "The fact that you're even factoring in the possibility that they'll hurt you says something."

"Would you be happier if I went in assuming everything would be kittens and rainbows?" Sans asks.

"I'd be happier if you weren't doing it at all," Edge snaps. "I'd be goddamn thrilled if I got the impression you care whether you live or die."

"And I'd be a lot happier if we weren't having this conversation, but we can't always get what we want," Sans says. Edge narrows his eyes. Sans sighs. "I've made it this far just fine, haven't I?"

"We have a different definition of fine," Edge says. "Taking stupid risks for no benefit isn't fine. Working yourself to exhaustion so you don't have the energy to feel anything isn't fine."

"People pay me money that I can exchange for stuff," Sans says. "It's called capitalism. They don't let me and Pap live in my house 'cause I'm pretty."

The whole exhausted numbness thing is just a perk. Can't think about the wrong things when he’s too tired to think at all.

"I know what capitalism is, you condescending dick," Edge says. "And I'm not following you down a conversational rabbit hole. You're not fine."

"Even if I wasn't fine, I'm not your brother. You can tell by the lack of emo dirtbag clothes and the collar I'm not wearing. That means I'm not your problem."

"And I'm not yours but you're forever in my business," Edge says. "Trying to feed me, trying to mistakenly defend me from Red's advances--"

"That's different," Sans says.

"Is it," Edge says flatly. "How?"

Sans exhales, looking away. His instinctive response is _because I can't fix what happened to you but I can buy you a goddamn sandwich, you poor fucked up kid_ , but Edge would never forgive him if he said it.

"This isn't where you came from. I don't need you to protect me,” Sans says. "The scariest thing I have to deal with is Papyrus's cooking."

Edge asks, "Then why is your soul cracked?"

It's a guess, a conversational suckerpunch. Red taught him well. Edge doesn't know, not for sure. Or at least he doesn't until the shame chokes Sans into silence for a few seconds too long. His soul hurts, all that careful, deliberate work of trying to ignore it wrecked by one moment of actual truth. 

The worst part is that Edge looks sympathetic. Like the fact that Sans cracked under the pressure of absolutely nothing happening to him deserves sympathy.

Sans tries to recover. "I told you. That doesn't happen here."

"Strange," Edge says. "Usually you and Red prefer to bend the truth's fingers back until it screams--"

"Wow, morbid," Sans says automatically.

"-- rather than outright lie," Edge concludes. "Since you're already lying to me, tell me you're actually seeing a doctor. Tell me you’ve told anyone at all."

"Not a huge fan of doctors. Good thing I'm fine and you're being paranoid." Sans drops his half-smoked cigarette on the concrete path to smolder out and gets up. "Anyway, I'm out. I'll try not to play in traffic or set myself on fire, but you know what I'm like without supervision."

Edge hasn't moved, still leaning back and watching Sans. He's frowning. "Does Papyrus know? Or is this something else you think you're protecting him from?"

And that is about all Sans can fucking take. He snaps, "How about you get your shit figured out with Red before you try taking on another project, buddy? What, got a weird twin fantasy? Gunning for the matching set?"

It was supposed to be a jab. Edge just looks at him and doesn't deny it.

This whole conversation has been rocking the boat Sans has been rowing up the river of denial. The expression on Edge's face, like he’s been patiently waiting for Sans to catch up, just flips the damn thing over. Sans is suddenly neck-deep and there are probably crocodiles and this metaphor has gotten away from him a little.

He wondered, is the thing. He suspected, that little part of him that reads faces and can’t ever stop, and he told himself no, of course not, that’s crazy. Edge has Red. Edge barely tolerates him. Edge doesn’t _want_ him. He wouldn’t be trying to... what is he even trying to do, seduce him? He’s a version of Sans’s brother--

(Except he said himself that Edge isn't his brother, didn't he. Except Edge and Papyrus are nothing alike.)

He should do something. He should sit down and talk about this, the way he talks his way out of everything. He should argue that no, it's not happening, that's never, ever happening. He should stay and deal with it now.

"Nope," Sans says.

He turns his back on Edge and walks back to the cart. As tempting as it is to ditch it and just bail, money is money. It occurs to him that he didn't turn his back to the human last night, which means Edge maybe has a point about fucking people he doesn't trust, and that’s just highly goddamn annoying.

Though Sans listens for footsteps, Edge doesn't follow him. There's only quiet. Sans is not that guy in a horror movie. He doesn't look back before he smacks one hand against the cart and takes it with him as he leaves.

It doesn't count as running if he knows a shortcut.

***

When Sans comes out of the bathroom, Red is waiting at the bar. Of course he is. That’s the whole point. Before Sans made his new buddy, he clocked one of the monster patrons pulling out their cell phone.

"Hey, doll," Red says. His eyes are half-lidded and amused. "Having fun?"

Deliberately, Sans wipes his mouth on his wrist. He washed his mouth out twice before he left the bathroom, but Red doesn't need to know that. Sans grins at him and takes the stool beside him. "Yeah, this place is the cream of the crop."

Red slides a bottle of ketchup across the bartop. "Making a statement. I can respect that."

"I don't care if you respect it or not," Sans says. He uncaps the bottle and drinks. It washes the last of the clinging, organic taste out of his mouth. "But thanks, I try. I figure since we’re playing mind games, I might as well play to win.”

“Nobody plays ‘em like we do.” Red turns towards Sans, leaning towards him like a conspirator. Beneath the bar, his hand settles high on Sans's femur. “You still looking for some company?"

Red’s hand is hot as a brand, a heat that radiates up to the core of him. Against his better judgment, Sans nods. He remembers not sleeping and how much worse the ache in his soul had been before he let Red drag him back into bed. He doesn’t want to deal with that tonight.

Grinning crookedly, Red says, “Well, you’re just full of surprises. You bolt for the door after a little harmless praise kink but you stay put now.”

"I know you’re just going along with it because it’s what he wants,” Sans says. Red’s priority will always, always be Edge. That’s the deal. Sans wouldn’t want to change it if he could because his own priority is always going to be Papyrus. In that, they’re perfectly agreed without having to say a word about it. “You don’t want this any more than I do."

“Heh.” With that useless non-response, Red strokes the inside of Sans's femur with a thumb. "Let's get out of here, huh? I got a mattress and some bad ideas."

"Yeah," Sans says. He finishes off the ketchup in three long swallows. When he puts the bottle down, Red is looking at him like he'd shove Sans against the bar and take him right here if Sans let him. He's never gonna be that far gone, but the fact that it's even a little tempting doesn't say great things about Sans's control over this situation.

He sets the bottle down hard and closes his fingers around Red's wrist. It's his shortcut this time that drops them in Red's bedroom. He puts them by the door so he can shove Red against it and go to his knees.

It's easy to get Red's shorts off and tangled around his ankles. The magic in Red's pelvis is unfocused. Sans hooks two fingers behind Red's pubic symphysis and rubs there.

"Fuck, your hands are cold," Red breathes, his head falling back against the door with a clunk that makes Sans wince. He doesn't sound like he minds the cold or the possible concussion. When Sans gets his tongue on Red's pubis, Red shudders and rests his hand on the back of Sans's neck. "You gonna let me form something?"

 _Let_. The idea has definite appeal. Sans pulls back just enough to say, "Nope."

Another long shudder. Red shifts so his legs are spread a little wider, giving Sans room. Sans moves to take hold of his coccyx instead, his fingers stirring Red's raw magic along the way. He keeps the touch light; his own coccyx is sensitive to the point where it could easily become painful. He doesn't want to hurt Red. He’s not going to break rules he actually agreed to.

Making him beg, though? That's absolutely on the table.

Red gasps, "Harder."

"No," Sans says.

Red lifts his head and looks down at Sans like he kicked a puppy, all betrayed indignation. Then he laughs and drops his head back against the door again with another thump. "You dick."

Sans hums agreeably and presses his tongue to Red's pubic symphysis. Red makes a soft noise, rocking his hips to to try to rub off against Sans's mouth, and Sans uses his free hand to pin Red's lower spine flat to the door. 

Red moans low in his throat. His magic is radiating heat as it stays pent up, warming Sans's fingers. Sans rubs his coccyx with his thumb, so light he's barely making contact, and Red actually trembles for him.

"This revenge for last time?" Red says.

Yes, absolutely, but Sans isn't going to stop to tell him so. Unlike Red, he knows how to fuck someone without constantly running his goddamn mouth. Between the bathroom sex and this, his jaw is going to ache like hell tomorrow, but he's making a point here.

He should've been playing with Red's coccyx this whole time, apparently, because Red isn't saying much. Or maybe keeping his magic from forming takes a lot of concentration. Either way, there's a blessed lack of bullshit, just Red breathing raggedly and pressing Sans's face to his pubis. Sans'll have to remember that.

Finally, Red says, "Fuck, please, I’m-- lemme--"

Sans backs off of him, even taking his hand off Red's spine. Red almost buckles in the sudden lack of support and Sans puts a steadying hand back on his hip fast. All the tension he didn't feel when he was eating out that human has slammed into him now. His magic aches between his legs.

Red still hasn't formed anything. He's waiting for permission, and that's a head rush. No wonder Red is so fucking smug all the time. Sans swallows hard against a giddy laugh and says, "Turn around."

Red raises his head off the door. His eyelights are blown. He turns around. One of his hands slams hard against the door, a startling jolt of noise, when Sans leans forward and licks the tip of Red's coccyx.

"Did that hurt?" Sans asks.

Red shakes his head. His voice is ragged. "Don't stop."

Okay then. Sans braces his hand on Red's hips and brings his mouth to Red's sacrum. When his tongue slips into one of the holes there, Red claws at the door. There are going to be marks. His fervent chant of "oh fuck" is almost a prayer. 

Sans reaches his hand between Red's legs, taking hold of his pubic symphysis between thumb and forefinger. Red grinds his hips forward into the firmer touch. Sans rubs there as he starts to carefully lap at the point of Red's coccyx.

There's no spurt of fluid when Red comes, no physical tell, just the way Red's voice cracks in the middle of another "oh _fuck_ ". Sans holds him up and keeps going until Red finally just folds. Startled, Sans manages to pull Red onto his lap before he hits the floor. Red's a warm, welcome weight on his very eager dick, which Sans is gonna just ignore for the moment.

When he’s sure he didn’t actually break Red or something, he croons in his ear, “Aw, sweetheart, you were so good for me, etcetera, etcetera.”

"Fuck you." Red drops his head painfully back onto Sans's shoulder. "You're supposed to be the nice one."

"Not that nice," Sans says. He shifts to hold Red a little closer.

"I’m getting that, yeah.” Red snuggles back against him. "Feeling avenged?"

Sans reaches an arm out and curls his fingers around the cock Red's body helpfully formed. Red jerks in his arms.

"Nope," Sans says. “Not yet.”

"Asshole," Red says, but he's laughing. He spreads his legs and shifts so the angle doesn’t kill Sans’s wrist. "Fuck yeah. Make me pay for it."

"And now you've made it weird," Sans says. He turns his head so he can lick what he can reach of Red's throat. His fingers make wet little noises as he jerks Red off hard and fast, shoving him back towards the edge again as brutally quick as he can. Red pants, grinding on him through his shorts. That little bit of friction isn't enough to get Sans there. That's okay. Not the point.

"Oh, honey," Red groans, delighted. "You fuck like rough trade."

It's crass and insultingly true, and Sans's body reacts to it like Red gave him the sweetest praise. He bites Red's throat and Red moans gratefully, stiffening and spilling in Sans's hand. Sans lets some of it hit the floor because fuck it, it's not his carpet. Passive aggression at its finest.

Red is limp and surprisingly heavy for all that he's just bones. He nuzzles his cheek against Sans's, all sweet, like he’s never murdered anyone in his life. "Bed?"

"Yeah," Sans agrees. When Red climbs off him, he readjusts himself. The fact that Red decides to crawl to the mattress instead of getting up like a fucking normal person doesn't help matters.

Red flops in an ironically boneless way, overdramatic and ridiculously hot for all that his pants are sort of tangled around his ankles and he's still wearing his shoes. He looks wrecked, flushed and breathless and charmingly bleary-eyed. When Sans kicks off his slippers and joins him, Red curls up against his side, his cheek on Sans's chest. It's a little cloying until Red puts his hand in Sans's pants.

"Whoa." Sans catches his wrist. "You don’t have to."

Red lifts his head. His eyelights burn with sudden focus. “Hey. Don’t start that one-sided bullshit. Not with me.”

His ferocity knocks Sans off guard. He lets go of Red’s wrist. “Jeez, okay. Knock yourself out, I guess?”

"Damn right." Red tugs Sans's shorts down far enough to get his cock out and repositions himself to get his mouth on it.

The blowjob is open-mouthed and messy. Red's tongue is lush and wet. Sans doesn’t fight it; they’re both tired. After watching Red fall apart, it only takes a few minutes. When Red tongues the slit of Sans's dick, Sans barely manages to get out a warning before he's coming hard. Red drinks it down, dragging the orgasm out until Sans finally just pushes his head away.

"There." Red flops onto the mattress hard enough to make the springs bounce and snuggles against Sans’s side, head resting on Sans’s arm. Sans’s fingers are already going numb. "Was that so hard?"

"You tell me, buddy," Sans says. "You're the one that had it in your mouth."

Red laughs. So casually Sans can almost pass it off as meaningless, Red puts a hand on Sans's chest above his soul. His fingers splay like he can grab it through Sans's ribs; the faint lingering glow outlines Red's hand. Sans braces himself for the inevitable bullshit. Edge told Red about his soul. Of course he told him. Sans is kinda surprised Edge didn’t narc on him to Papyrus, but the fact that his phone isn’t blowing up says that Papyrus is still blessedly in the dark.

Papyrus could handle it okay. He’s an adult, light years more mature and together than Sans is. It’s for Sans’s own sake that he’s lying about it, because he doesn’t want to deal with the fact that it’s happening at all. It’s selfish. All the lies he’s telling Papyrus are. Knowing that isn’t enough to stop him.

His soul doesn’t hurt at all right now. Not even the tolerable ache that he’s gotten so used to that he can just ignore it, an actual absence of pain. He can pretend there’s nothing wrong with him without any mental effort. Seems a shame to ruin it.

Surprisingly, Red doesn’t go straight for the open wound. He drums his fingers on Sans’s ribs, beating a tattoo that makes Sans tense in case the vibration jars his soul back into hurting again, and says, “You’re stuck with the overprotective bullshit no matter what you do, but anything else? That’s your call.”

“I wasn’t figuring he was going to--” Sans stops, thinking of jokes about community theater and the way Red is very, very deliberate about consent. More carefully, he says, “I know. You two are creepy but you’re not that creepy.”

“He’ll back off if you tell him to,” Red says.

Sans turns his head to look at him. “What if you tell him to back off?”

Red snorts. “Don’t try to make me do your dirty work, jackass.”

“It’s one thing to smile and nod while he’s talking about getting me in the sack,” Sans says. Then he has to stop for a second and evaluate the unfortunate life choices that brought him to a moment where that’s a thing he even has to say. “It’s a whole ‘nother ball game if I lose my goddamn mind and decide sure, why the hell not, lemme jump on my alternate bro’s dick.”

“He’s not your bro,” Red says. He sounds bored.

“You can’t tell me you’d be cool with sitting in the living room while I banged Edge,” Sans says. There might be a smidge of desperation creeping into his voice. “Not if it was really happening.”

“No, I can’t tell you that,” Red says. He lifts his chin so Sans can get a good long look at his expression, the one that says he’s not joking. “If you’re banging my bro, I want a front row seat. I’m parking my ass in the splash zone.”

“What the fuck,” Sans says.

Grinning, Red gives Sans’s cheek another of those almost-slaps. “It’s a good thing you’re pretty.”

“What the _fuck_ ,” Sans repeats, directing it more at the universe in general than at Red. It’s been a long goddamn day with too much bullshit in it, including Red apparently being just fine with sharing Edge when he’s pretty sure Red would shank a bitch for stealing fries off his plate. 

“Anyway,” Red says casually, like he didn’t just throw a brick through the plate glass window of Sans’s life. “How do you feel about tentacles?”

Sans redirects his stare to the ceiling to give his brain a second to reboot in safe mode. Edge knows about his soul, and he’s trying to fuck him, and Red is a-okay with that, and that’s just… a lot. He’s not sure he can shove that back in the denial box, mostly because they wouldn’t let it stay closed. He’s gonna have to deal with this.

Tomorrow. Yeah. He’ll totally deal with this tomorrow.

By which he means he’ll have figured out a way not to deal with this tomorrow.

“Are you asking if I fucked Onion-San?” Sans asks. “I was the town bike and everything but I’ve got my limits.”

For some reason, that makes Red grin like Sans just handed him the keys to the Heinz mustard factory. “Bet Al showed you some of that hentai shit.”

“It’s good for a laugh when you’re high,” Sans says. “Why?”

“Oh, no reason,” Red says breezily, which means there’s definitely a reason and Sans should be concerned. “Just thinking ahead. It’s my turn next.”

“You took two turns in a row, asshole,” Sans says.

“And you let me,” Red says. “I didn’t hear any complaining last night.”

Sans gets a vivid flashback to Red’s hand over his mouth, Red’s cock in him, letting Red take him. The heat creeps across his face. He sits up, dumping Red onto the mattress. Red squawks a protest. “You just didn’t hear me over your own bullshit.”

He’s fully dressed, no clothes to rearrange. The only thing that stops him is Red’s fingers closing around his wrist. He gives Red’s hand a flat look.

“You don’t wanna go there so you’re out,” Red says, grinning up at him. “You’re so predictable, Sansy.”

“Oh, no, not the devastating psychological insights,” Sans says. “Stop. Please. I’m gonna cry myself to sleep as it is.”

“Aw, don’t try to get me hot,” Red says. He drags Sans’s hand over and nuzzles the inside of his wrist, which is sweet until he bites. It stings a little and Sans automatically jerks back, but Red didn’t do any damage. “Try not to fuck any more humans tonight, huh? You made your point.”

“What happened to me being a free bitch?” Sans asks.

Red sighs, looking at the ceiling as if for patience. “Look, you dick. It seriously freaks him out. Then I have to deal with twice the overprotective bullshit to make up for it.”

Sans leans over and kisses Red’s mouth. “That sounds like a you problem.”

Red snaps his teeth at him. “Fuck off before I decide to make it everybody’s goddamn problem.”

Since Red asked so nicely, Sans is happy to oblige.

***

Edge shows up the next day like clockwork. When Sans sees him, he gets a strange feeling, relief to see him tangled up with dread of whatever Edge might say. He shoots Edge fingerguns and a wink. “Hey, edgelord. Something on your mind?”

“Nothing you haven’t already heard,” Edge says. “I won’t waste my time repeating it.”

Edge looks tired, like he had a long night followed by a shitty morning. It’s probably just stuff at the embassy. It’s not necessarily because Sans deliberately did something he knew Edge was freaked out about just to make a point. Sans refuses to feel guilty about it, which promises to be as long-term successful as refusing to feel anything at all.

“Good,” Sans says. “You on break?”

“If you still welcome my company,” Edge says. His expression is calm but his arms are crossed, fingers ticking restlessly.

“It’s gonna take way more than that to get rid of me,” Sans says. That actually makes Edge look a little less worried, like he thought Sans was going to cut him off entirely, and that… yeah. Sans fucked up. He’s not sorry he drew the line, but he didn’t have to do it like that. He puts the sign up. “I just ain’t talking about the elephant in the room.”

Ain’t. Shit. He’s been spending way too much time around Red. He can just picture the thorough chewing out Gaster would give him, all _I pulled you from the gutter, don’t embarrass us both by sounding like it_ , but the slip makes Edge almost smile. “Which elephant? There are several at this point.”

“Let’s trunk-ate this discussion and say all of them,” Sans says. “Every single goddamn elephant.”

Some of the humor bleeds out of Edge’s face. His eyes flit to Sans’s chest, like he can see his soul through three layers of clothes, and Sans whistles sharply through his teeth. When Edge’s attention jerks back towards the sudden sound, Sans says, “My eyes are up here, you perv.”

That’s probably brushing too close to addressing stuff, but Edge doesn’t pursue it. “That won’t work indefinitely.”

Edge won’t let it work indefinitely.

“It doesn’t have to,” Sans says. There’s no such thing as indefinitely. Nihilism as coping strategy. Besides, if the world doesn’t come crashing down by the time that convo comes around, Sans will have figured out a good line of bullshit. Probably. “Just gimme some time.”

Edge tilts his head, assessing him. It’s hard to tell what he’s looking for or what he decides. “I’ve gotten used to dealing with a certain amount of avoidant bullshit from my brother. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that you’re no different.”

“When you get down to it, Red and I aren’t that much alike,” Sans says. Maybe once Edge gets that through his head, he’ll drop this whole seduction idea. The only reason Edge wants him is for the sake of having Red twice. If he’s annoying enough, Edge will let it go before Sans actually has to address it.

Edge gives him a look. Then he says, “Give me your hand.”

“Sure,” Sans says, holding it out to shake. Good thing he put on the whoopee cushion in case of prank emergencies.

Edge gives him a look, then pulls off one of his gloves. Somehow Sans expected his hands to be scarred but they’re just… hands, long-fingered and kind of elegant. Edge bypasses the whoopee cushion by carefully taking Sans’s hand between both his own, like he thinks Sans is going to break if he handles him too roughly. His hands are warm, as warm as Red’s.

As if on cue, Edge says, displeased, “Your hands are freezing.”

“I get that a lot,” Sans says.

“It’s a symptom of a cracked soul,” Edge says. His frown deepens. “You really don’t know anything, do you?”

Sans shrugs uncomfortably. “They didn’t exactly cover this in health class.”

“Typical.” Edge pulls something out of his inventory. A book. Looks like a textbook, actually, something about soul trauma and recovery methods and a whole lot of medical lingo. He thrusts the book at Sans like it’s an attack. “I’ll let the subject drop for now if I think you won’t die of ignorance.”

With his free hand, Sans takes the book and shoves it in his cluttered inventory. “Guess I can cancel my date with the Dim Reaper.”

“Ugh.” Edge lets him go. “Read it.”

“I will,” Sans says. It’s not like he’s a stranger to dense textbooks or, unfortunately, medical crap. He’ll manage to carve a little time from somewhere or another. “It’d take a lot of spine for me to say no now. So can we turn the page on this whole subject or should I book it again?”

“Fine,” Edge says. He pulls his glove back on. “Don’t make me regret letting this go for now.”

“I’ll do my best,” Sans says. “Or at least 50% of my best. Okay, maybe 40%.” When Edge gives him an unamused look, he grins. “Kidding, edgelord. Anybody ever tell you you’re too serious?”

“Only people who refuse to take anything seriously,” Edge says. “Since we’re ignoring everything that’s actually important, what inane bullshit would you rather talk about?”

“Heh.” Sans shoves his hands in his pockets. “You wanna hear some jokes?”

“No, and fuck you for asking,” Edge says sourly. Sans laughs and steps out from behind the cart, letting Edge fall behind him. A long moment of awkward quiet. “I haven’t seen the cat in a few days.”

Sans cranes his head back to look at him. “Resourceful little cat burglar like her? I’m sure she’s just fine.”

“I don’t doubt she can fend for herself,” Edge says. “She’s done it this long without me.”

“But you’re still worried,” Sans says, finishing the sentence.

“Yes,” Edge admits, surprisingly. Sans expected a lot more grumbling and playing tough. “I enjoy her company. We understand each other.”

A skittish, feral survivor who’s more likely to bite than purr. Yeah. Sans guesses they have a lot to talk about.

“Just let her get her stray cat on for a while,” Sans says. “She’s not stupid. You’ve got food and you haven’t tried to hurt her. She’ll be back in no time.”

Edge’s mouth turns up at the corners. “I’m a patient man. I can wait.”

**Author's Note:**

> Content notes: flashback to medical experimentation and verbal abuse, Edge continues to be controlling by non-Fell standards but gets some pushback, Sans fucks another random human without really feeling it just to make a point (offscreen), reference to implied prostitution in Red's history.


End file.
